


Nothing, Compared to the Size of the Universe

by Sarcastic_Cupcake



Category: Original Work
Genre: Angst, Cognitive Dissonance, Gen, Hurt/Comfort, Implied/Referenced Self-Harm, Internalized Abuse, Internalized Emotional Abuse, Mental Health Issues, References to Depression, Sad, Self-Esteem Issues, Suicidal Thoughts, again I'm kidding there is no comfort
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-11-05
Updated: 2018-11-05
Packaged: 2019-08-19 02:57:53
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,397
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/16526000
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Sarcastic_Cupcake/pseuds/Sarcastic_Cupcake
Summary: It’s just simple fact, that your very existence is a burden on others, and your job is to minimize that imposition as much as possible; to even allow yourself to acknowledge that voluntarily doing something other than that is physically possible sends you into a tailspin, into the numb blackness of something you think you may never be strong enough to face, into considering how much less of a hindrance you would be if you just killed yourself right then and there and got it over with.





	Nothing, Compared to the Size of the Universe

**Author's Note:**

> DO NOT READ THIS if anything listed in the tags is a trigger for you. Please take care of yourself. Also, you know the drill--title this time from Squalloscope's War Strategies (https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=OUjyYFyCUSg).

You know you’ll forget it all if you don’t write it down, but then again you know you might forget it all anyway even if you do. Oh, you remember everything so vividly right _now_ : the shadows dancing across the grass, faint cheering and sporadic music in the background, the electric prickle of your newly-shorn head against the roughness of your bag. But most of all, you remember the laser-point clarity of your desire to just _stop existing_ , to pick one of a million different ways to fade away until there was no longer enough of you to even attempt to bring back. That desire, that _craving_ , is always there in some capacity or another, but it was particularly strong that night; you could hear a little circle of people talking about some inane gossip, people that you probably considered friends at some point, and you let the thought of joining them flit across your mind. But you knew that if you moved to mingle with them something amazingly urgent would happen, and they’d stroll away to deal with it, never mind the fact that you can keep a secret like nobody’s business or that you didn’t even care about it in the first place because you only ever cared about being _included_. Of course you _could_ follow them if they did, but even _you_ know that's meant to indicate that you are not welcome, and it galls you to even consider how they'd react once you were gone, even though all you ever wanted was the chance to be someone who was a _part_ of a little circle of people talking about some inane gossip, the chance to be not-nobody, the chance to be _somebody_.

Somebody suggested that if you ever needed a place to be you could stay at their house once and you want it so badly you can feel it surge through your whole being, all prickling tears and stinging wrists and choked-back pleas but you can’t accept, you’ll probably never be able to; you cannot cannot _cannot_ do anything that you’d perceive as being troublesome to someone else. Being offered a single, simple piece of chewing gum sent you into a spiral of simultaneously being unable to accept (“they could be enjoying that instead of you, you don’t even _remotely_ need it or even _remotely_ deserve to take it from them”) or turn it down (“they’re offering it because you smell bad and that’s a tactful way of trying to mask the scent, how _dare_ you subject them to proximity to you, it doesn’t matter if you want it or not the correct answer is yes now _take it_ ”); you sat there in disoriented silence for far too long before stammering out “N-no, I’m good, thanks though” and feigning a smile. Even then, your absolute inability to say yes to any sort of gift won out over any other impulse you might have had; relying on someone else for food, for shelter, for a washing machine and a place to store personal belongings and internet and transportation and somewhere to sleep and a bathroom and power outlets and all the other little things that you’d need? Inconceivable, absolutely not, out of the question don’t even _think_ about it you _cannot_. It’s just simple fact, that your very existence is a burden on others, and your job is to minimize that imposition as much as possible; to even allow yourself to acknowledge that voluntarily doing something other than that is physically possible sends you into a tailspin, into the numb blackness of something you think you may never be strong enough to face, into considering how much less of a hindrance you would be if you just killed yourself right then and there and got it over with. So it _must_ have only been an offer made from politeness, with the implicit assumption that you’d turn it down from politeness in turn. A meaningless social ritual, accomplishing nothing but to fulfill a meaningless societal expectation. Or at least that’s what you tell yourself, because you cannot accept, and because if you repeat it loud enough it might take the burn out of how true you’re beginning to see it is. And yet you _want_ to say yes so _much_ , sometimes.

Sometimes you wonder who would actually cry at your funeral. You could find out if you just walked out into traffic or jumped from that one balcony or chose something else from the million other ways to die you could dream up off the top of your head; realistically, you know it’s probably around five people, but you interact with none of them on a weekly (or monthly, or even _yearly_ ) basis, and after a while you might as well be dead to them if not in body then at least in spirit. How many people would go only because you led neighboring lives, because their absence would indicate some lack of social formality, because they were aware of your existence and others knew that? On another day you might be bitter about it, but you don’t have the energy to be annoyed at the immutable reality of the situation right now because all you can do is imagine how easily you could be _so dead_ or wait and wait and wait until something happens because you can’t die right now but there’s nothing worth continuing to exist for so you wait and wait and wait just a _bit_ longer something has to happen it has to go _somewhere_ -

Somewhere, in a dusty corner of your mind, you feel something wink out as you remember all the times the Girl held your hand, trading snarky comments or sharing stupid inside jokes or listening as you rambled on and on. You knew there were people scrutinizing the bond between you two, unless that was just the anxiety talking, but it didn’t matter, you wanted to pick a fight anyway. Say “No, we’re not dating nor do I even _remotely_ want that to happen; this is purely because sure, alright, maybe she’s stuck-up or talks back to you or whatever the fuck else you consider problematic, but she’s the _only_ one here out of all of you who has any interest whatsoever in making sure I don’t commit suicide at some point, so how about you fuck _right_ off and try to ostracize someone else?” Of course, it wouldn’t have happened like that, you’d have stuttered and tripped over your words and your voice would shake and you’d emphasize the wrong syllables because that’s just what you _do_ when you get flustered, but at least being angry about some imagined situation keeps you from being too depressed about _this_ one, and that makes it a little bit better, somehow.

Somehow it always goes like this, everything is just so fine fine _fine_ until it’s not, but the words suffocate you and you smile so blindingly _bright_ because that way nobody sees past to the shattered-glass fractures that push their way up to the surface. Showering, you sob yourself hoarse, screaming and gagging on your own desperate gulps of air, until the water runs cold, and then you get out and dry your face and go to bed to wake up and pretend it’s all fine fine _fine_ again because you can’t _not_ do that. Occasionally you pretend so hard that you mostly convince yourself that it _is_ fine, force it all out of your mind until you forget those little pesky details like how one of your friends is blatantly Islamophobic and sort of racist and sort of attracted to children or how you’re probably severely depressed and probably need medication to stay even moderately sane or how your parents are _not_ abusive because that would mean that they were doing something wrong and they’re not, they’re right about all of it, just you wait until you see how much they tried to do for you, and even if that’s wrong which it _can’t_ be they’re doing their best because they had it so much worse so it _has_ to be okay. You forget because remembering _hurts_ , and if you remember too much you _will_ lose it, or honestly, maybe you’ve lost it already, because how would you know if you had?

I mean, there are days where it just goes like that, you know.


End file.
